


To the Edge of the Universe and Back

by JudeBarrett



Category: RWBY, The Last of Us
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 00:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17396864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeBarrett/pseuds/JudeBarrett
Summary: The only thing you grow to expect after the world ends is survival. Getting from Point A to Point B. Love? Well, that's just unsustainable.Bumbleby TLoU AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so: 
> 
> -Faunus exist  
> -This is in America  
> -No semblances or aura or dust  
> -Rubes is 16, Bees and the rest are 18  
> -Ummm most of the rest of it is just Last of Us canon  
> -I'm not going to use any specific cities because I hate research  
> -I'm so sorry about this

_ Run. Kill. Eat. Sleep. Survive.  _ She had been over it a thousand times. The mantra repeated in her mind constantly, a ceaseless, droning rhythm that thumped to the tempo of her heartbeat.  _ Run. Kill. Eat. Sleep. Survive. _ It drowned out everything, loud and all-consuming. That worked for her. She didn’t need to think about anything else anymore. It would hurt too much.

Cities blurred together nowadays. She tried to hit every one along the way, daisy-chaining bandit camps and infected hordes and supply caches. She reasoned (in the small way she would reason now, way in the back of her head, in the quiet spaces between the words of her mantra) that it was less to do with the glut of supplies promised by now-ancient urban existence and more to do with the fact that she really  _ couldn’t stand  _ the vast expanses of empty land that now comprised most of America. There was already more than enough nature creeping into the crumbling bastions of mankind for her comfort.

This struck her as mildly humorous, in a dark sort of way. She was, after all, a faunus. Wasn’t the stereotype that the faunus were more animal than human, that they should be in the wilds with the other beasts? Well, who were the beasts now. The virus spared the faunus due to their  _ inferior _ genetic makeup, and there the humans were, tearing chunks of flesh out of their neighbors’ necks. Ah, what a cruel joke.

Not that the faunus were spared their share of misery when the virus took its toll on humanity as a whole. While the faunus were immune, that didn’t mean being torn apart wouldn’t kill them. Though, the natural advantages of night-vision and animal-like reflexes did aid in their survival. However, the worst of it came, as it always did, from the humans. Distrust spread through the country even quicker than the cordyceps spores, and the faunus weren’t exactly beloved to begin with.  _ It must have been from those animals, they probably all carry it, we should have never let them near us to begin with.  _ When the riots began, it was the faunus homes that were destroyed, the faunus shops that went up in flames, and the faunus who were strung up on lampposts and shot in the streets as a means of “revenge”. Thousands more died from starvation as they were denied food rations by the military, and more still died at their own hands as desperation mounted. There was no way to know how their populations were decimated, but, then again, it was doubtful that anyone would care, especially at this point.

 

She sucked the marrow from the bone of a goose she had caught on the rooftop of the apartment complex she was looting. She rarely thought about these things anymore. What had happened to the faunus, her family, her friends. She rarely even thought about her own name, how old she was, where she was. She just wanted, no,  _ needed _ desperately to live. The instinct to survive died hard, it seemed. She wrapped the rest of the meat in a cloth and put it in her backpack. That would last her the next few days, and she still had a few leftover canned goods besides. Another can of the disgusting fruit cocktail she had eaten 4 days ago, a can of peas and carrots, and one of something called “Beefaroni”. She was mildly excited about this one, in her own way.

 

Softly and warily, she padded down to one of the rooms she had looted earlier. The door, she had noted, had a thick deadbolt along with 2 other locks, and was thick and sturdy, having managed to escape the rot that had seeped into the rest of the wooden apparatuses in the building. She locked the door three times behind her, and then, for good measure, pushed a chest of drawers from the bedroom up against it. Thankfully, the windows were already boarded, albeit with musty old wood, but it was enough to keep out the cold and, more importantly, any winged intruders. The apartment owners seemed to have left before the worst of it, however, since the place was relatively tidy (as tidy as places could be, given the circumstances). She could almost...envision the family that would live here. Not that it was particularly hard, seeing as there were photographs of the family everywhere. But, even more so, she could sense the people really having  _ lived _ here,  _ loved  _ here.

 

She sat on the massive sleek purple sectional that took up the bulk of the living room, looking around. The teenage son would probably have sat here, playing a video game on the flatscreen facing the couch, dropping Cheeto crumbs into the shag carpet. A lone coaster sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, coated in layers and layers of dust. That was for one of the dads’ mugs. Dad 1. Mmm, coffee, no, oolong tea. 

 

She wandered into the kitchen, checking all the cabinets and drawers as she went out of force of habit. Here, Dad 2 was cooking...beefaroni. The pan was still on the stovetop, along with a kettle which made her feel somewhat validated for guessing that Dad 1’s drink of choice would be tea. The kitchen was sort of kitschy and mismatched, compared to the modern and minimalist living room.  _ Must have split up decoration duty _ , she mused. The walls had little sayings like, “Live life with a little spice!” and “Today’s Menu: Take it or leave it!”, and there was a huge gaudy clock shaped like a lion with its tongue out on the wall. She decided she liked Dad 2. The fridge, not to be outdone by the rest of the decor, was covered in all types of magnets from around the globe. A bright bouquet of tulips from the Netherlands, a smiling cartoon koala from Australia, what she could only assume was the flag of Finland encircled by the name of the country in question. The only thing on the fridge not sporting the name of a faraway land was a small dry erase board. She had to squint and gently wipe away the dust to really see what it said. “Chore Chart:”, followed by a small list of duties like “washing the dishes” or “feeding Mimi”. The chores were each assigned to one of three names, she noticed. Dad, Papa, and… Adam. She suddenly felt her blood run cold. It was best to stop thinking about this family.

 

When she got to the large master bedroom, she kept her eyes glued to the floor. She was a survivor and most definitely was NOT interested in how the conflicting interior design philosophies of Dad 1 and Dad 2 collided when it came to their room. Instead, she tossed aside the sheets and covered herself in her own blanket. Tomorrow was a new day, with new dangers. She would need her rest. Keeping her dagger in its sheath close to her chest, Blake Belladonna fell asleep trying not to think about what happened to Dad, Papa, and their son Adam.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake has a fun encounter.

Blake’s feline ears twitched erratically in her sleep, and, at the sound of a crash coming from the lower levels, she awoke with a start. She gasped for air and felt around for the dagger and quickly unsheathed it as she processed where she was. Apartment. Small city neighboring Nashville, whatever it was called. Light filtered through the boards of the window, with the lack of intensity that characterized the early morning sun. She sat perfectly still for a moment, just listening, every muscle in her body taut and ready to strike. She relaxed. Nothing in this room, at least. But the crash was undeniable. It was only a matter of time before she was trapped in here with whatever was roaming the halls of this building.

 

She crept into the main room as softly and quickly as she could, and suddenly was faced with a terrible reality. The chest of drawers she had pushed in front of the door had been terribly heavy, and moving that thing around would surely alert whoever or  _ whatever  _ was downstairs. She spared a glance at the windows, but there was no way tearing the creaky boards off of the window wouldn’t cause the same level of noise or even more. Blake gripped the hilt of the dagger, returned to its sheath at her belt. There was no other option. Sooner or later she had to do this, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be when the intruders were at the door. She would need to run.  _ Run. _

 

She gripped the edges of the drawers and pulled desperately. The wood creaked and screamed mercilessly as the drawers dragged along the floor, and once it was moved to the point where Blake felt she could slide into the doorway, she unlocked and unbolted the door as quickly as she could and slithered into the hall. She glanced around. They weren’t here. But she definitely heard noises coming from the stairwell. Damnit, her one escape. She looked around despairingly, looking for somewhere, anywhere to run. The noises were closer now, and,  _ fuck _ , they were definitely voices. Two people, both female. Humans were harder to avoid than the infected.

 

Wresting the dagger from its sheath, she rounded the corner near the door to the stairs. She had no choice. The only way out would be to kill them. Two people...she could handle that, but she would have to pick them off one by one. She could only hope that there weren’t more coming. 

 

The voices were even closer now, and she could, at this point, make out what they were saying. One, high-pitched and squeaky, was whispering all-too-loudly to the other, whose voice was still that of a young woman, but smoother and more self-assured. Blake scoffed. They obviously weren’t professionals at this. A more aggressive enemy would have attacked by now, a clicker would have been at their throats in seconds. 

 

“But, he said  _ not  _ to go further than we needed,” Squeaky Voice whispered, voice clear as day to Blake’s heightened listening ability. “Just to check if there were any signs of them and then leave.  _ Leave _ , Yang. Not go deeper in.”

 

“They could be here, okay? Maybe they’re just...hiding out. I...I need to make sure.” The voices were almost at the door. Blake almost felt sorry for them. They obviously meant her no harm, but she couldn’t take any chances. They could just as easily be bandits, used to killing on sight. The door opened and Blake held her breath as they stepped onto the carpet of the second floor. 

 

“Ah, I’ll take the right corridor and you take the left, alright Rubes? You okay with that?”

 

A sigh. “You  _ know _ I can handle myself, but...Yang...I don’t think…”

 

“Please? Can we just check?”

A moment passed. Blake tried to hold her breath for even longer, but it was getting hard.  _ Come on, come on. Get it over with.  _ She didn’t want this to last longer than it had to.

 

“...Of course. Yell if you find anything.”

 

An exhale. Blake’s lungs burned at the suggestion. “You too.” And then the footsteps began. By what she had heard, she expected...Yang, was it? Blake prepped herself to take her down as soon as she rounded the corner.

 

_ Closer...closer...and… _ As soon as she saw a suggestion of movement, Blake snatched out and clamped her hand over the girl’s mouth, anchoring her elbow around her neck and attempting to take her down for the kill. She had managed to get her in position through sheer surprise, but the girl was tough. Strong, too. She slammed Blake and herself onto the ground and wrangled herself out of Blake’s grip with reckless ferocity. Suddenly her hand was around Blake’s wrist, pinning her to the ground. Blake hissed and clawed at the girl’s face with her other hand, feeling a satisfying heat as she drew blood. 

 

“Agh! What the fuck?” The girl drew back, and it was just enough time for Blake to get the upper hand again. She flipped the girl onto her back, and in one fluid movement pulled her dagger to the girl’s throat as she straddled her and tried to get a grip...on...her...arm…?

 

A gunshot rang out, nearly deafening to her sensitive hearing. Instinctively, Blake flattened closer to the girl and held her knife tighter to her throat, several beads of blood appearing now. 

 

“No sudden moves or the next shot is not gonna miss. Get the fuck off her.” Blake couldn’t see her, but she could hear her voice as loudly as it had seemed to want to be in the stairwell. Squeaky Voice.  _ So they were armed. Good to know.  _ Blake didn’t move, and instead shifted her focus back to the girl she was even closer to now. The girl’s wide lavender eyes stared into Blake’s narrowed amber ones, and her tanned skin was marred by scars and now a wide scratch across the cheek leaking blood down her chin and into the hollow of her throat. Her mess of blond hair was tied off and pressed underneath her shoulder, nearly breaking through the constraints of the poor hairband enlisted to hold it all in. She smelled like sweat, but sort of...in a good way? That and the iron tang of blood. Blake suddenly felt the weight of her underneath her. How long had it been since she had been this close to another--

 

“Hey! What the fuck did I just say? Get. Off. Of. Her. Don’t make me repeat myself, asshole.” Blake weighed her options. Kill this one and die for sure. That wasn’t ideal. Stand up and maybe have a shot at getting away? These people didn’t seem like they wanted to kill. But that was a guess. There was no way to find out until she just...did it.

 

Blake lifted her dagger gently off of the girl’s throat and stood up as slowly as she could, hands in the air. 

“Good. Now drop your weapon. And stand against the wall to your left.”

 

Blake did as she was asked, still not seeing Squeaky Voice. Had she guessed wrong? Was she about to die here, in a city by Nashville whose name she didn’t even know?

 

Squeaky Voice exhaled shakily, and Blake heard frantic steps to where she presumed “Yang” was now stirring.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, sis. Are you okay?” 

“I’m not the one who was just attacked! Do you need any bandages, or disinfectant or-”

“Ruby. I’m fine. Been through worse. You know that.”

 

“...Yeah, I know. I know.”

 

A moment passed. Blake wondered if the gun was still trained on her.

 

“Um, Yang? What should we do about…?”

 

“Oh yeah, she’s still here, huh. Well, let’s see what we’re dealing with. Wanna turn around, pretty kitty?”

Blake’s ears flattened at the nickname. Slowly, she turned around to face the two girls. Now that she had a chance, she took in both of their appearances fully. Squeaky Voice, or Ruby, was, as Blake had assumed, relatively young. While Yang had seemed to be around Blake’s age, this girl couldn’t be more than 16. Her dark hair was choppy and short, clearly cut out of convenience rather than for any aesthetic purposes (not that there were many of those anymore), a dark red at its tips. Unlike Yang, her skin was pale, and her cheeks were flushed pink like a caricature of youth under a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, long-lashed and wide, were a silver-grey, and there was a hint of an old vertical scar on her upper lip. She was holding an old hunting rifle in her white-knuckled hands, and seemed to be wearing a windbreaker straight out of the 1980s, all turquoise and yellow and hot pink. 

 

“Calm down, we’re not going to hurt you. That is, if you don’t plan to hurt us. Any more, I guess.” Yang chuckled a little and gingerly wiped away the blood quickly drying on her jawline. Blake’s eyes flitted over to her.  _ Woah. _

 

Blake had never really been one to aesthetically appreciate people. She was more the type to judge a person on their actions, the way they carried themselves. But Yang seemed to be an exception. Her blond locks cascaded to the small of her back, wild and curly, as Yang attempted to reign in her hair again with the poor hair tie. The arm pulling back the hair was as toned and muscled as Blake would have expected, having been under its grasp. The flannel shirt she was wearing only revealed her forearm, but Blake could see the poor shirt straining to hold in Yang’s triceps as she extended her arm to tie her hair. Why was she only using one--  _ oh.  _

 

In her fascination with Yang’s one arm, Blake had completely failed to notice the other. Or, what was there of the other. The flannel shirt was tied off, just above where her right elbow would have been. Blake was used to seeing people without limbs, there was, after all, no shortage of maimed people in the world nowadays. What surprised her was that she had completely failed to notice this as they fought. The girl seemed to be completely competent without an entire limb, strong enough to hold back a fairly accomplished fighter (Blake was aware of her talents- she had to be to gauge the outcome of given encounters, especially since she was on her own). She would have loved to have seen Yang fight with the use of both of her arms. Blake tried to hold down her sudden flush of admiration.

 

“Well? What, cat got your tongue?” A mad, wolfish grin spread across Yang’s face.  _ How is she joking right now? I nearly killed her. _ Blake opened her mouth but nothing came out. She tried again.

 

“I...don’t….want...to hurt you.” Blake’s voice cracked with lack of use. She felt surprised to hear the words come out of her own mouth. _Really? What happened to surviving? You can’t be serious._ _You can’t leave them alive._

 

“There you go. Would hate to have to kill you. You almost had me there, y’know? Think if Ruby hadn’t been here… well…” Yang tossed her hair playfully. 

 

“ _ Yang! _ Don’t joke about that. What should we do, what if she’s not alone?” Ruby bit her lip and looked Blake up and down. Blake knew a visual pat down when she saw one. 

 

“Well, first off, I’ve got a few questions. What’s your name, kitty cat?” 

 

Blake hesitated. She didn’t know who these people were associated with, who they knew. Better safe than sorry.

 

“...Bella.”

 

“Pretty. Works on you. Now, anyone else out here with you, Miss Bella?”

 

“No. Just me.”

 

Yang’s purple eyes sparkled for a moment. “Just you, huh? Alright. I know how that is. One last question.”

 

One more question. Blake supposed that after that she would really see if they weren’t going to kill her. 

 

“Have you seen two women pass by here? Or anywhere, really? One’s got long black hair, red eyes. Kind of a bitch. Other looks a hell of a lot like my sis here.”

 

Blake’s eyes looked over Ruby one more time. “No.”

Yang and Ruby glanced at each other. 

 

“Alright,” Yang whispered. “I...I’m gonna level with you, Bella. You’re a hell of a good fighter. And I really don’t think you’re a bad person. Deep down, that is. Just desperate like the rest of us. And...aw fuck it, I guess I’ll just say it. We need someone like you. Back at our camp. We’ve got a good group going, and we just need some more manpower and I really thi-”

 

“No.” Blake was firm on this point. Admiration or no, this was her rule. She could leave them alive, but that was all she could do.

 

Yang’s mouth fell open. “But, I...I mean you’re alone. You really don’t know how good being in a group can be until you try. And I get you want to do your whole lone wolf thing, but-”

 

“No. And I know how being in a group is. Kill me or don’t kill me, but I’m not joining you.” Blake’s gaze fell to the ground. Why was this girl trying so hard?

 

“Yang, what the fuck? She literally just tried to  _ kill _ you.” Ruby stared at her sister in disbelief.

 

“Rubes. You know we need more fighters. But you heard the lady. A no’s a no. Go ahead and ease up on her, Ruby.”

 

Ruby still looked shocked, but after a moment she slowly lowered her rifle. “Don’t try anything.”

 

Blake exhaled, lowering her own hands slowly. The girls stared at one another for a few moments. 

 

“We’ll let you get a head start out of here. Promise we won’t follow you. Scout’s honor.” Yang held up two of her fingers. Blake had no idea what the hell she was doing. “Just, ah. If you change your mind...we’re at the mall downtown. We’d love to have you.”

 

Blake paused for a moment, in disbelief, then backed away slowly from the girls. Once she got to the stairwell, she nearly sprinted down the stairs and was out of the door in less than a minute. She caught her breath in the doorway of a Cici’s Pizza, before proceeding to clear it out. She tried to clear her head, too, as she methodically checked the back. Damn, one clicker. She stabbed into its neck, making sure not to ease up until it stopped its erratic movements, then set up for the night in the kitchens. Three cans of pizza sauce here. A water filter. 

 

She decided to treat herself to the beefaroni tonight, the irony of making a fire on the ground near a stove not lost on her. It was alright, cold in places, a little slimy. Blake decided she wanted to look for more at some point. Whoever this Chef Boyardee was had the right idea. Blake set up her blanket right there on the cold tile floor of the kitchen and tried to get some sleep. It was only 5 PM, way earlier than she normally went to sleep, but she somehow felt that the day had been a little longer than she would have liked. 

 

As she closed her eyes, she repeated her mantra in her head.  _ Run. Kill. Eat. Sleep. Survive. Run...Kill… _ The face of the tall, broad shouldered blonde girl flitted across her mind’s eye.  _ If you change your mind… _ No, no. Stop it.  _ Run. Kill. Eat… _

 

Blake sat bolt upright.

 

“Fuck.”


End file.
